


beyond the stars

by winter_flowers



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AO3 FB Challenge, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Temporary Character Death, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Star Trek: Into Darkness, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 21:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_flowers/pseuds/winter_flowers
Summary: In a world where your left eye turns the colour of your soulmate's when you become aware that you are in love with them, Jim Kirk struggles with realizing his feelings for a Vulcan, the stubbornness of said Vulcan, an offline warp core, and the aftermath of his resurrection.Written for the July 2018 Roulette AO3 FB Challenge





	beyond the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first Star Trek fic! I'm honestly so in love with this fandom and the chemistry between Kirk and Spock, but I never thought I'd be able to capture their characters well enough for a fanfic. Thanks to this challenge, however, I had to at least try--and I don't regret it one bit.
> 
> Enjoy!

Jim Kirk would admit any day that he doesn’t find the concept of soulmates appealing. For one, the rule only applies to Terrans, since many alien lifeforms are not biologically structured the same way, and thus do not have varying eye colours, or even eyes at all. Additionally, there’s no way in determining whether the person you like (or are dating) is actually your soulmate until you’ve fallen in love with them and you’re _aware_ of that fact. And once your left eye has changed into the colour of your soulmate’s, it stays that way for the rest of your life.

The only example Jim knew growing up was his mother, who wore a single contact lens in her left eye during the day, only to remove it and tear up at the mere sight of her reflection at night. Once her grief lessened to a bearable intensity and she began looking for a new partner, men generally stayed away after seeing her, assuming that she would never reciprocate their romantic interest. It wasn’t until Frank came along that she finally entered a relationship, her first after the Kelvin incident.

In a momentary lapse of judgment during their first year aboard the _Enterprise_ , Jim asked Spock for his opinion on the idea of soulmates indicated by the colours of one’s eyes. He was sure when he posed the question that his First Officer would claim the idea to be illogical and unscientific.

It was all the more surprising to Jim when Spock acknowledged the existence of the concept, and even more so when he voices his belief in it. The reason, however, is similar to that of why Jim cannot trust the system.

His parents.

According to Spock, Vulcans do not have soulmates, save for one especially rare type of bond, for which Jim spares him the need of elaborating. His father, having fallen in love with and married a human, is apparently an even rarer case to be exempt from this. Though Jim supposes that if, according to the rules, every human has a soulmate, then some must be paired with non-human species, considering the development of warp and intergalactic travel.

Still, if you ask Jim, there are many flaws he can point out in this whole ‘soulmates’ thing. What if the person you’re dating—or even married to—isn’t your soulmate, and you love them sincerely, but your eyes are still yours even after months and years? What does that mean for such a relationship?

What if your partner’s eyes suddenly change one day, but the colour doesn’t match your own?

What if your soulmate doesn’t love you back? You’d be able to tell at a single glance, since, you know, heterochromia and all. What would that mean for you?

(That happens to be exactly what Jim Kirk has to figure out.)

 

\---

 

In retrospect, Jim would absolutely agree that allowing his attraction for his First Officer to develop into more than just a crush, while stuck in arguably close proximity with said First Officer for a five-year mission, is possibly a very bad idea. An idea with outcomes that would favour neither of the two and could potentially endanger their current relationship ( _friendship_ , Jim would like to call it), consequently affecting the _Enterprise_ and her crew.

But right now, his beloved XO is inside an active volcano and Jim refuses to allow a _regulation_ to prevent them from saving his life.

Even if the rest of the crew have stated their restrictions— _the heat would be too much for the ship, we might not be able to maintain that altitude, we need a direct line of sight for even a chance to beam him up_ —and Spock is there, using his logic and usual Vulcan-infuriating-ness in an attempt to convince him otherwise, Jim refuses to accept this as an answer.

In his mind, there are no such things as no-win scenarios.

“Spock, nobody knows the rules better than you, but there has _got_ to be an exception,” Jim argues, hands tightening into fists atop the control panel.

“None. Such action violates the Prime Directive,” Spock replies, his voice as controlled and serious as ever, as if it isn’t his life on the line, his life that they’re trying to hold onto—that _Jim_ is trying to hold onto and won’t let go of no matter what.

Bones steps in, annoyance visible on his face. “Shut up, Spock, we’re trying to save you, dammit!”

Jim squeezes his eyes shut for one brief moment. _Think!_ he yells in his mind. _You have to save him. You can’t lose him like this. What would Pike do if he was here and Number One was in the volcano? He’d save her, wouldn’t he?_

His eyes fly back to the viewscreen as Spock argues, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Spock, we’re talking about your life!” Jim explodes, struggling to maintain his composure in front of the bridge crew.

“The rule cannot be broken—” Spock’s voice cuts off as static takes over, ending their communication.

His heart thumping erratically in his chest, Jim yells, “Spock!” though he knows he won’t receive an answer. “Try to get him back online,” he tells Uhura, who is holding back tears as she nods frantically and hurries to her station.

Vaguely, he can hear Chekov’s voice to his right informing him, “Ninety seconds to detonations,” but Jim isn’t really paying attention. He needs to save Spock, and he needs to do it now, before that device renders not only the volcano inert, but his First as well. But there still lies that one small issue of Spock being inside an active volcano with no intention of being rescued.

_If Spock were here and I were there, what would he do?_

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until Bones replies, in a voice far too grave, “He’d let you die.”

Jim’s instinctive response is to say, _No, he wouldn’t, Spock wouldn’t do that to me_ , but his insecurity bubbles up from inside and he isn’t so sure that’s true. Spock is Vulcan (or at least half), follows the path of logic to a T, and is even willing to die for the sake of a regulation. Would he choose the same for Jim if their places were reversed?

Shaking the thought away, Jim spends another moment in hesitation before ordering Sulu to take them out of the water. It doesn’t matter what the Prime Directive states, or how weak the beam up signal would be.

He is going to save Spock.

In the aftermath, as Spock appears on the transporter pad looking slightly confused that he is no longer inside the volcano, Jim can only feel relief.

“Spock!” he exclaims, chest heaving as he completes his sprint into the transporter room. “You all right?”

His relief lasts only a second longer, dissipating into exasperation as Spock opens his mouth and says (as if he hadn’t just been about to die), “Captain, you let them see our ship.”

“Oh, he’s fine.” Visibly at ease now that Spock is back, Bones waves it off with a hand, turning slightly towards his captain as he does so. But Jim’s eyes remain firmly on the Vulcan, a small smile on his lips.

_He’s safe, he’s alive, we saved him._

_He’s here_.

He’s halfway through shaking his head at Spock—seriously, how can he only be thinking about rules at a time like this?—when Uhura’s voice announces from the comm, “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Jim acknowledges, head turning to the side.

He can hear the slightest tremor of emotion in her professionally firm voice as she asks, “Is Commander Spock on board, sir?”

The relieved exhale on the other end of the line doesn’t go unnoticed as Jim replies, with a hint of pride, “Safely and soundly.”

“Please notify him that his device has successfully detonated.”

Jim’s gaze returns to Spock as his grin widens, his breathing still slightly laboured due to his run from the bridge. “You hear that? Congratulations, Spock. You just saved the world.” He would give Spock a nice clap on the shoulder for a job well done, but he doubts the Vulcan would appreciate the contact.

With no small amount of irritation and disapproval, Spock states, “You violated the Prime Directive.”

“Oh, come on, Spock. They saw us. Big deal.” Jim meets Spock’s stare of displeasure with an ‘it’ll be fine’ look of his own, too busy internally celebrating his First Officer’s safety to care about the future consequences.

After first returning to the bridge to confirm their next destination, Jim leaves the conn to Sulu and heads towards his quarters to update his captain’s log with the happenings of Nibiru. As he trudges down the hall, he can’t help but feel a stab of anger as he thinks back to Spock’s insistence of leaving him in the volcano—and for what? Simply in favour of protecting the Prime Directive and not exposing the natives to their ship. How could that be worth more than his life?

Displeasure flares in his chest. _Why are Vulcans so damned rule-abiding and stubborn anyways? He could have_ died _, for God’s sake. What would I do without him?_

With a slight shake of his head, Jim continues his way towards his quarters, straightening up and nodding as he passes a pair of ensigns, whose wide-eyed gazes linger on his face for longer than he would think is necessary. When he gives them a questioning look, however, they lower their heads—is that a blush he sees?—and hurry away.

Self-consciously, Jim raises a hand to his cheek. _Do I have something on my face? Is my stubble showing again? I swear I shaved before beaming down to the planet, but considering what a crazy day we’ve had . . ._

His feet stutter to a halt in the middle of the corridor as his thoughts organize themselves into coherent ideas, the words circling his mind finally settling and rising to the surface. They leave him with the frightening realization that, _oh,_ his initial attraction for Spock (developed through the year of having him by his side as his XO) might be something a little more than just a crush.

Jim almost chuckles out loud. What an understatement _that_ is for the unbidden mess of feelings crowding their way into his thoughts and his heart. He knows what they mean, though he’s somewhat afraid to acknowledge them.

_I’m in love with Spock._

(It shouldn’t be as daunting as it seems.)

He steps into his quarters and heads straight to the mirror, not wanting whatever it is that his crew noticed to put him at the mercy of further strange glances—or, heaven forbid, the judgment of Mr. Spock—when he returns to the bridge for his next shift. He isn't completely oblivious; he has a good guess of what they saw on his face.

The change is brutally obvious as soon as Jim catches sight of his reflection in the glassy surface—he’s sure he couldn’t have missed it if he tried. Unable to tear his eyes away, Jim finds himself captivated and equally horrified by the colour that is not his own staring back at him unblinkingly.

With trembling fingers, his hand brushes the skin under his left eye. Instead of the same cerulean blue that he’s seen for twenty-six years, a deep chocolate brown scrutinizes him just as his First would, asking him, _Are you really that surprised?_

He isn’t, no, but that doesn’t lessen the dread pooling in his stomach as he realizes the implication brought on by this change. He and Spock are soulmates. And now that Jim has fallen in love with him, everyone—including Spock—will notice the change in his eyes.

It’s an issue that could be remedied by requesting a coloured contact lens from Bones, but Jim takes too much pride in his love, too much pleasure in _being Spock’s soulmate_ , to hide it from the world.

In a moment of self-doubt, Jim wonders, _What if it isn’t Spock?_

But he dismisses the question as soon as it appears. He knows his feelings. He knows with whom he has fallen in love, with whom he is destined to spend his life. It’s only a question of whether his desire is reciprocated.

Then Jim remembers, perhaps belatedly, that Spock is a taken man (taken Vulcan, whatever) and a wave of unease washes over him, his guild mixed tightly within. The scene of Spock and Uhura sharing a kiss on the transport pad flashes through his mind, the sound of _Nyota_ falling from Spock’s lips echoing in the background. Jim could only imagine the difficulty of convincing his XO to address him by first name, and even if he complies, it would not hold the same significance as _Nyota_.

He exhales and turns away from the mirror, relocating to his desk. The captain’s log won’t record itself, and if it does, then surely it would do Jim no favour, considering he broke the Prime Directive. No one would know of that particular detail, however, so long as Jim doesn’t mention it himself—he trusts his First to have his back as well.

(What he didn’t quite expect was for Spock to write a completely truthful report of the affair and sell him out for his decision. Now _that_ was uncalled for.)

“You filed a report?” Jim hisses, his attention now on Spock instead of Admiral Pike. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Without an inkling of regret (what did Jim expect anyways), Spock answers, “I incorrectly assumed you would be truthful in your captain’s log.”

“I would have been if I didn’t have to save your life.”

“A fact for which I am immeasurably grateful, and the very reason that I felt it necessary to take responsibility for the actions—”

Jim chuckles humourlessly. “Responsibility, yeah. It would be so noble, pointy, if you weren’t also throwing me under the bus,” he mutters, with no small amount of bite in his voice.

“Pointy?” Jim almost delights in the way Spock’s eyebrows pull together the slightest bit. “Is that a derogatory reference—”

“Gentlemen,” Pike interrupts as he stands, making his way around the chair. “Starfleet’s mandate is to explore and observe, not to interfere.”

Before he can continue, Spock interjects, “Had the mission gone according to plan, Admiral, the indigenous species would never have been aware of our interference.”

Now facing the two, Pike challenges, “That’s a technicality.”

“I am Vulcan, sir, we embrace technicality.”

“You giving me attitude, Spock?” Considering the seriousness of his tone, Jim finds it hard not to be concerned for his XO. His worries practically multiply when Spock replies, without missing a beat,

“I am expressing multiple attitudes simultaneously, sir.” With a fractional tilt of his head, he adds, “To which are you referring?”

Jim is nearly gaping at the two as the response registers in his brain. Who knew Spock was _sassy_? He’s genuinely impressed by the immediateness of the retort and his indifferent deliverance, as if it isn’t an Admiral that he’s arguing with. Of course, if Spock were to hear his thoughts, he would say, _Vulcans do not argue, we are merely reminding our conversational partners about facts they may have overlooked_. But Jim knows that would be a complete lie— _Vulcans do not lie, Captain_.

God, there must be something wrong with him if he can hear his First Officer’s voice in his head.

(Or, so it turns out, not _his_ First Officer. At least, not anymore.)

Honestly, Jim should have expected he wouldn’t get anything good out of the meeting with Pike the moment he stepped into that office. How foolish of him to think that a Vulcan would conceal the truth for his sakes, and if not for his, then surely for that of the _Enterprise_. Though he’s sure Spock would counter, in his ‘you-are-an-illogical-human’ way, that it is illogical to conceal the truth for the sake of an inanimate object.

Jim hopes that their ship—that _he_ means more to Spock than his mind’s second voice claims.

The only consolation he can hold onto is the lack of questioning from Spock about his eyes, though the same could not be said for the Admiral. After his lecture, Pike gave him a long moment of silence, allowing Jim to compose himself somewhat despite having just heard the devastating news that he would no longer be captain of the _Enterprise_. Then, with warmer eyes and the heavy weight of his hand on Jim’s shoulder, he tells him,

“You’ll be back there, son. Your place is aboard that ship, in that chair, with him right beside you.” He gives Jim a pointed look and the _Who’s ‘him’_ dies in his throat. “I know you’ll make it back.”

And so he does, after a surprisingly short period of time. However, if Jim were to be given a choice between Pike’s life and the lives of all those who died in Harrison’s attack, and his spot in the captain’s chair, he would bring them back in a heartbeat.

 

\---

 

Jim has no doubt that since this whole disaster with Khan began, his life has been an absolute mess. He has lost the only man he’s ever known as a father, has been used by a vengeful Admiral to (nearly) start a war, and has tried to compromise with a genetically-modified superhuman, only to be turned on and attacked. He’s sure it couldn’t get any worse when Scotty exclaims, distressed and desperate, “The ship’s dead, sir. She’s gone,” and Jim swears his heart stops for a moment.

Unwilling to accept that as the conclusion, he racks his brain for a solution—anything, however ridiculous and borderline impossible, as long as it can save his ship. There is only one that comes to mind (and he’s willing to take it).

“No, she’s not,” he breathes, taking off in a run towards the warp core chamber.

“Wait, Jim!” Scotty calls as he catches on to the idea, following closely behind him. “If we go in there, we’ll die. Do you hear me? The radiation will kill us! Would you listen to me?”

Jim doesn’t hesitate despite Scotty’s concerns, brushing off the latter’s hands as his own begin punching in the sequence to unlock the entrance.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Turning back briefly, Jim answers, “I’m opening the door, I’m going in.”

“That _door_ is there to stop us from getting _irradiated_ , we’d be _dead_ before we make the climb.”

Jim knows Scotty’s stubbornness and he knows that if the engineer had his way, they certainly wouldn’t make it in time. Breathing heavily, Jim allows a pause before stating, “You’re not making the climb.” He swings his arm backwards and renders his companion unconscious with a single punch, not allowing him the time to process his decision.

After securing Scotty to his chair, Jim rushes back to the chamber, panting as he drags himself through the opening and begins to climb. The turbulence of the ship in free fall threatens to undermine his balance, but Jim continues through the tunnel into the chamber, his face and neck dripping with sweat. He takes a second to search for the quickest route to the warp core, hands slipping as he pulls himself up while fighting the headache brought on by exposure to radiation.

Jim allows himself a brief moment in an attempt to catch his breath, struggling to lift his limbs as he glances up at his goal. _Come on, you can do this. You have to_. He is all too aware of his exhaustion as he maneuvers his way up, involuntary grunts of effort escaping his lips. _Almost there_.

The warning lights are still flashing around him as he practically collapses forward, before reaching both his arms up to latch onto the bars above the warp core. Jim hoists his upward, retracting both legs then slamming his feet onto the bottom half of the contraption. He repeats the action with renewed force when it doesn’t budge, practically screaming in frustration. _Come on, come on, WORK_.

Finally, after the longest minutes of his life, the core realigns, and the sheer force of it sends him flying backwards, tumbling further and further down until he reaches the bottom.

A groan makes its way up his throat as Jim rolls onto his knees. _I did it. She’s back_.

The adrenaline coursing through his body slowly fades, until it’s just him, his fatigue, and the radiation.

Jim hauls himself towards the entrance, crawling on his elbows and knees until he reaches the rectangle of glass. His breaths are short and laboured as he forces himself into a sitting position, his right hand closing around the latch above and locking the entrance to the chamber. He swallows with great difficulty as his arm drops back to his side, taking several gulps of air—however useless it may be at this point—before opening his eyes.

The first thing he sees is Spock. Spock, with his eyebrows drawn slightly together, hands pressed upon the surface between them, an expression of concern visible on his features, no matter how much he may deny his emotions.

“How’s our ship?” Jim gasps, every word feeling like a knife dragging along his trachea.

With a miniscule nod, Spock replies, slightly breathless, “Out of danger. You saved the crew.” There is something akin to awe in his voice that warms Jim’s (dying) heart.

“You used what he wanted against him.” It’s praise, filled with respect and approval. “That’s a nice move.”

He swears Spock’s lips tremble as he says, “It is what you would have done.”

“And this,” Jim responds, “this is what you would’ve done.” He meets Spock’s gaze. “It’s only logical.”

There seems to be a quiet realization that passes through the Vulcan’s eyes, and Jim is sure that’s _his_ cerulean blue staring back at him. His chokes back a sob as he feels his body shutting down, the recognition that _it’s happening_ , _he’s really dying_ rooting itself in his mind.

“I’m scared, Spock,” Jim whispers, and Spock’s eyebrows furrow a bit more, redness lining his eyes. “Help me not be,” he begs as his eyelids threaten to fall shut. “How do you choose not to feel?”

On the other side of the glass, Spock shakes his head. “I do not know. Right now, I am failing.”

Jim is stunned by the raw emotion he hears in his voice, and for a moment, he is gratified he is able to see Spock like this before he dies, without the Vulcan’s usual strict suppression of his feelings. _How wonderful it would be_ , he thinks, _if he would just understand. It’s less about suppressing the human side of him than it is embracing it, following his logic yet still allowing himself to_ feel.

With what he’s sure is the last of his breath, Jim tells him, “I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you.”

“Because you are my friend,” Spock finishes, a tear falling from his left eye—the same azure that Jim knows is his own.

He’ll always regret the circumstances of finding out that his love is reciprocated, he thinks. He’ll always regret being unable to see what they could become, whether they could share a relationship as strong as the one between the Ambassador and his Jim. But his ‘always’ isn’t so long anymore, and Jim is glad that fate has at least been good to him this one time, for allowing him this intimate moment with Spock.

Jim uses every ounce of strength remaining in his body to press his left hand to the glass. Immediately, Spock understands, his own hand meeting Jim’s in a Vulcan salute that the latter painstakingly shifts his fingers to replicate.

A smile touches the corners of Jim’s lips as his eyes remain fixed on their hands, touching yet not touching, parted yet never parted, for they are bound by the connection between them.

A foreign word floats into his mind, accompanied by a memory that isn’t his of an older Spock and a hazel-eyed Jim.

 _T’hy’la_.

And it feels right.

He lifts his gaze to meet Spock’s one final time, taking in every detail for the last few seconds of his life.

The world becomes hazy, fading in from the edges, and he knows he’s out of luck.

 _Thank you,_ Jim wants to tell him. _For you, it’s worth it_.

 

\---

 

Darkness.

Silence, expansive, ringing.

 _Dead_.

Voices, hushed, whispering.

_Alive?_

Louder, growing, agitated.

 _Captain_.

Jim’s eyes snap open with a start. His vision is initially unfocused and blurry, chest rising and falling rapidly as he adjusts to the natural lighting in the room. He blinks several times before tilting his head to the side.

 _Bones_.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” says his best friend, approaching him with a device Jim can’t quite recognize in his coming-to state. “You were barely dead. It was the transfusion that really took its toll. You were out cold for two weeks.”

Rolling his head the other way and back, Jim repeats, “Transfusion.” His mind is still processing his surroundings, his state of _living_ , but the word brings him closer to reality and the answer of _how?_

“Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice.” Bones doesn’t pause his actions, holding up a chip to Jim’s collarbone and glancing back down at the PADD for its readings.

The pieces begin to make sense of themselves in Jim’s head. “Khan?”

“Once we caught him, I synthesized a serum from his ‘superblood.’” Furrowing his brows and vaguely gesturing with his hands, Bones inquires, “Tell me, are you feeling, eh, homicidal? Power mad? Despotic?”

Grateful that they can joke around as usual even in this state, Jim replies, “No more than usual.” Still, there’s something he doesn’t understand. “But how’d you catch him?”

“I didn’t.” With that, Bones steps away and walks around the foot of the bed, revealing the third presence in the room that Jim only just notices.

Spock moves forward until he is filling up the doctor’s vacated position, but he doesn’t speak.

Jim can feel the corners of his lips pulling up into a slight smile as their eyes meet and he says, “You saved my life.”

From his left, Bones interrupts, “Uhura and I had something to do with it too, you know.”

His response is a raised eyebrow and fleeting glance before his attention returns to Spock. Spock, Spock, _Spock_. God, it feels good to say—or rather, think—his name again. Now that they are facing each other, with nothing separating them, Jim can no longer remember how he ever thought being away from his love would be anything less than unbearable.

As if Bones had never commented, Spock states, “You saved _my_ life, Captain, and the lives of all—”

“Spock, just—” Jim pauses and grunts lightly as his breath escapes him. “Thank you.”

He can see the relief in Spock’s face and the satisfaction in his voice—not for his own actions, but for being able to hold this conversation instead of talking to a gravestone—as he answers, “You are welcome, Jim.”

(And if he happens to delight in the way Spock says his name, who’s here to stop him?)

Once Bones has finished fiddling with the machine at Jim’s bedside, he tucks his PADD under his arm and raises Jim’s bed until he’s sitting over halfway up. “I’ll let you guys talk it out.” With a glance between them and the slightest lift of his eyebrows, he adds, “It looks like you need it.”

Jim doesn’t miss the look Bones gives the Vulcan on his way out, but he is grateful to the doctor for allowing them some time to figure things out. Although the silence persists long after the door clicks shut, Jim’s mind is racing through the number of things he could—or possibly _should_ —say to Spock right now, since his best friend has provided such a perfect opportunity.

However, just as he opens his mouth, Spock beats him to the punch.

“Jim, before we ‘talk it out,’ as the doctor put it, I wish to assure you of my gratification that you are, indeed, alive.” He inclines his head and before Jim can make a joke about it being illogical to be gratified by such a fact, Spock continues, “That being said, I would like to confirm that after our conversation seven-point-three-four months ago pertaining to the concept of Terran soulmates, we are both, as humans say, ‘on the same page’ of the subject.”

Surprised, Jim nods, half-smirking as he responds, “Kinda hard to miss, considering I’m still getting used to seeing you with a blue eye.”

“I am not quite accustomed to it myself.” A Vulcan version of a smile tugs at Spock’s lips, unnoticeable to anyone who has not witnessed his minimal expressions of emotion. “It is, indeed, quite an aesthetically pleasing colour.”

Jim raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Is preference for colours not illogical, Mr. Spock?”

“I have found there is little that follows logic when it concerns you, Captain,” his First counters, and Jim laughs, relishing in the way Spock responds to his humour. They are surprisingly calm for two soulmates who are aware of the mutual affection lying between them, waiting to be addressed, but he thinks that considering they’ve survived life and death, a conversation about their love seems much less grave.

“Returning to our previous topic,” Spock continues, “I believe I may not express my thoughts appropriately in words considering the significance of this conversation, and therefore wish to propose an alternative method of communicating my . . . my feelings.” There is evident discomfort as he says the word, though Jim is not sure whether it’s directed towards the idea of having them, or the feelings themselves.

“What kind of alternative?” he asks.

“I wish to show you instead.” Spock moves a touch forward. “Should you be amenable to the idea, I will begin to explain the procedure.”

It takes Jim a moment to process the suggestion. “You want to do the . . .” He trails off and mimes the gesture the older Spock had performed when initiating the mind meld, his fingers touching certain points on his face, though he’s sure they aren’t in the correct places.

There is evident shock in Spock’s features as his eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. “I was not aware you knew of the Vulcan mind meld.”

“Spock—uh, your counterpart, the other Spock—did it on Delta Vega to explain the Nero situation,” Jim informs, watching displeasure twist over Spock’s face (as much as he can tell, anyways) at his words.

The Vulcan is evidently vexed by the newfound information as he speaks. “He should not have performed a mind meld without explaining the risks and possible effects on a human, in addition to the fact that mind melds are generally reserved for connections between bonded pairs or those with extremely close relationships due to its mental intimacy.”

“It was kind of an emergency, you know, being marooned on a frozen planet with deadly creatures five times your size, while a vengeful Romulan is about to destroy Earth,” Jim defends. “Besides, he probably saw me as his Jim Kirk, and they definitely qualify as close according to how he describes him.”

Spock presses his lips together without reply for a long moment. Eventually, he says, “Considering your first experience of mind melds occurred under less than favourable circumstances, are you averse to using this method of communication to resolve our situation?”

Though his word choice is as stiffly formal as always, Jim can hear the underlying insecurity. “No, it’s fine, I’m not—I’m not against it.”

Hesitantly, Spock approaches him until they are only a foot apart. He reaches a hand forward, his fingers connecting with Jim’s face in the same arrangement as his counterpart had done over a year ago. “My mind to your mind,” he murmurs.

The second half of the phrase floats into Jim’s consciousness. _My thoughts to your thoughts_.

He appears in what Jim recognizes as a Vulcan landscape, all red desert sand and dust and distant mountain ranges. He stands next to a single-storey house of bricks that was all straight lines and sharp angles. It’s far more calm and soothing than his meld with Spock’s counterpart, though Jim supposes it’s because he’s surrounded by the feeling of _Spock_ and there’s nothing else that can compare.

The Vulcan in question materializes next to him. _Do you feel any discomfort, Jim?_

He can feel Spock’s growing concern and tentatively responds to it with a wave of reassurance as he struggles to form the words in his mind. _I’m fine, Spock, stop worrying so much._ Jim isn’t sure how coherent his thoughts are to Spock, but the latter nods and invites Jim towards the house.

 _Come. Let me show you_.

They step through the doorway and the building fades, giving way to a memory of an interaction between them from the early days of their command partnership. Jim remembers this well—a game of chess he himself proposed after learning that his XO plays quite brilliantly from Uhura—though seeing it through Spock’s perspective turns it into an entirely new experience.

Though they both consented to the game, their relationship is still awkward at times, and Jim recalls giving up on making small talk about three minutes in. But as the game progresses, the tension between them gradually lessens until it disappears completely, and their exchanges could even be classified as friendly.

He senses Spock’s emotions as they converse.

 _Curiosity, amusement, respect_.

The scene dissolves and fast-forwards through their interactions over the years, picking at small moments of discussion—conversation in the mess hall over dinner, in Jim’s quarters with a chessboard between them, on the bridge as they receive a new mission. The emotions surrounding each event shift and change, but there is a layer of fondness that grows with every smile they share, every laugh that leaves Jim’s parted lips, every nod of reassurance.

There is a moment as Spock stands on the transporter pad staring at Jim, still clad in his heat-resistant suit. He is incredulous that his captain broke the Prime Directive, but so, so thankful that he would live to continue serving alongside Jim.

The next time they meet on the bridge, he notices his captain’s left eye is no longer the startling blue that he admires each day. Jim catches the little bit of Spock’s irritation from the memory—is that jealousy he senses as well?—and conveys his glee to Spock the best he can. The Vulcan returns the gesture by enveloping Jim in his mirth, though it quickly fades into thunderous anger as Khan appears in their shared minds.

Jim can feel Spock’s hesitation, can feel that the latter nearly skips over the recollection for his captain’s benefit so that he wouldn’t have to relive the attack—and Pike’s death.

 _It’s okay_ , Jim tells him. _I want to see_.

And he does. He sees everything that took place through Spock’s vision, the moment he realized exactly what Jim had and the following dread as Khan fired on the room. The immediacy at which Spock’s mind jumps to _Jim_ as his eyes search for his captain through the attack is immensely comforting, though Jim can’t help the sorrow projected from his mind as he sees Pike lying there, breathing his last.

Spock’s presence renews itself at Jim’s side. _I am here. I am with you_.

He doesn’t answer, focusing back on the memory as he feels Spock’s worry for his well-being and fury that after losing so much, Jim has lost yet another who is close to him.

But nothing compares to the utter despair crashing into him as Spock kneels down by the panel of glass between the engineering room and the warp core, with Jim on the other side.

 _T’hy’la_ , the Spock in his memory thinks. _I cannot lose you, Jim, please_.

Jim is too immersed in the expanse of Spock’s sorrow to question the meaning of that foreign word, the weight of his anguish nearly unbearable even in a memory. He watches as his own hand slips from the glass, his eyes glazing over as he succumbs to the darkness of death. Spock is still for an agonizing moment, his emotions in turmoil inside him.

Then, his mouth opens in a scream channelling all his distress and hatred into a single name: _Khan_.

Suddenly, they are back in the Vulcan desert and Spock stands before him with sadness painted over his features. It soon disappears into tender endearment as he raises two fingers and Jim finds himself automatically reciprocating the gesture, its meaning showcasing itself in his mind.

 _My t’hy’la_ , Spock whispers. _Friend, brother, lover_.

Warmth and devotion accompany his words, enveloping Jim like a blanket. His senses are in override, filled with only Spock all around him, and he responds in kind by pushing forth his love, until he’s sure Spock knows the full extent of his affection.

They slip back into reality as easily as gliding from one dream to another. But Jim knows this is no mere conjuration of his mind.

He wastes no time in placing his hand at the back of Spock’s neck and bringing their lips together. The Vulcan reacts passionately, his fingers finding Jim’s and intertwining them, caressing his palm with a thumb as he deepens their kiss. They stay connected for what seems like forever, with Spock eventually making his way into the bed beside Jim until they are somewhat able to fit both their bodies on the small surface.

(Bones finds them asleep with their arms around each other, and only allows the hobgoblin to stay past visiting hours for the sake of not waking a sleeping Jim.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) Kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are well-appreciated!


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